Beethoven's Birds

This morning I woke to the comical sound
of Beethoven’s birds, as they flitted around
just outside my window. They tweeted a song
they couldn't get right, no matter how long
or how much they tried. Still, they tried and they tried,
losing nothing but time as the morning slipped by.

And then when I'd all but given up hope,
they hit it just right—that elusive fourth note.
DA DA DA Dum. It was the Dum they had missed
and not by that much—like two virgins' first kiss,
when they both tilt their heads and lean in the same
direction and repeat, never matching their aim,
until God or the laws of chance let them kiss
and planets align in realized bliss.

I glanced at the analog watch on my wrist,
the kind that has hands that point at the minutes.
The watch had stopped tracking the time in the night.
But still, I considered, it would sometimes be right,
twice each day if I left it. But what if I wound it
each night before bed? Then the birds when they sounded
their songs in the morning could be proven right
on some random interval, if not all the time.

Is that not enough, like the virgins' first kiss
and Beethoven's birds? See how often they miss
perfection and yet, when the planets align,
they're song is a symphony—the right notes—the right time.
Not even aware of how often they fail,
they only remember the times when they hail
victorious and savor those moments most virtuous.
When I think about them, I think about us.